Come, take my hand
Follow me into the forest
The fallen leaves, drenched with rain, will guide our path
Through the shaded glade and up the moss covered hill
Don’t be afraid to step in the mud
Listen, hear the crisp snap of twigs echo in the distance
The soft lull of trickling water, flowing in the creek
Watch, catch a glimpse of the timid deer
Hiding in the thicket and the little squirrel
Lilting across the treetops, acorns in cheek
Touch, stroke the rough bark beneath your fingertips
Caress the summer leaves, immerse your hands
In the tranquility of soothing waters
Feel, accept the dawn’s gentle kisses upon your face
The pure spirits that inhabit the trees
Feel nature pulsing through your body with renewed vitality
Breathe deeply;
Infuse your lungs with the richness of life
And speak:

Tell me, Mr. Arborist,
Do you still wish to destroy the forest?

NaPoWriMo 2016 - Day 21 - Poem from a minor character in a fairy tale.

Oh Grandma

Well m'dears,
I never fancied a care home, or
meals on wheels.
With a shrivelled up lump
Of God's knows what.
Delivered twice a day.

But I'm blessed.
With family who
look after me,
in their own way.
My daughter sends her girl
every couple of day with a basket full of "goodies".

I don't know who is more feckless mind.
Her mother who dresses her up
in a stupid red cape.
Or the child who can't follow
simple instructions.
Go straight to grandma's cottage.
Do not talk to strangers.

Anyhoo, I lay there,
my stomach thinking
my throats been cut.
When I here a knock at the door.
I remind the idiot child
the door is on the latch.
My hips too dodgy to be getting up and down.
This suspect looking character
saunters in.
All big eyes, big ears, big teeth
Now I'm old, but no fool
I says "you're a..."

Before I've got a word out.
That great slathering beast
Gobbles me up.
Not so much a by your leave
No one respects their elders these days.

To add insult to injury.
He starts cavorting about
In MY nightie.
Now, I'm not one to judge
What a slathering beast does
Behind closed doors is his own affair.
But it was my best flannelette
He ripped the buttons right off, the brute.

Half an hour later my granddaughter,
Little miss take your own sweet time comes along.
Now I've mentioned she's not
the sharpest ax in the woodshed.

Well she gives Mr Wolf, my cake, my wine.
Then, after his washed that down, THEN, she gets an inkling something MIGHT be amiss.
I can hear all this from the cavernous belly of the wolf.

Oh grandma what BIG eyes, ears, teeth, you know the story.
Is she blind?
His a 6ft humanoid wolf.
In drag.
I'm 4ft nothing.
I've bounced that girl since she was a babe in arms.
Ok, perhaps once or twice I MAY have dropped her on her head.
But to not recognise her own grandmother.

Well long story short
There is a scuffle
A local arborist is passing.
Sweeps in saves the day.
Gives old wolfy a taste of cold steel.
Felling him from crown to toe.
I flop out like a wriggling infant.

I've come to see it,
as a rebirth.
A second chance of life if you will.
I'm carpe dieming and seizing what fishes I can catch.
I've sold the cottage, me and Sven the wandering arborist are shacking up together.
People say it's shocking
That he's only after me for my money.
But it beats feckless family or sheltered accommodation
Plus I've got a nice fur stole
Much more fetching than a Red Riding Hood.

Fingertips reach out against the forgotten wood.
An old wicked tree, gnarled with memories.
It seemed only moments ago, each groove
and every ridge was known.

A palm outstretched delicately, hoping to feel,
pressed against the rot of fading time.
The wounds of the mind run deep.

The hand pulls back, steadies it’s rage,
erupts into useless follies.

And still stands no closer to remembering.

I tried to be civilized until I realized ....
... That ain't never going to be me
For some it may be the door to success
To me it's always been just another lock door
And I ain't got no effing key
Won't try knocking or ringing the bell
Cuz there ain't nobody inside that I need to see

So I just kept on walking and then  I began  to notice
all the windows were full of people
nd all those people
Were staring out at me.

I tried waving as I was passing
All I got in return was blank stares at me
It was as if they had no clue
As to what it is that  they should do
I want to say I'm as sorry as I can be
If one of those people turns out to be you

Those who believe that the fancy overpriced car
Makes them who they are
or followung  what is  trending
from day to day
In order to decide what is good
Without making up their own mind
As to why it is said to be so......
So?
Soooo .....so WHAT?

If everyone in the world turned their back on you
Would you take this as a clue...
...about what it takes to be you?
Or will you turn your back the same
In order not to stand out or be noticed
By joining the clic

To become  just another unmorticed brick...
...in the wall?
Then that click click....clickity clack
sound
You hear echoing loud and clear
Will be the sound of my shoes quick steppin
Getting me the hell out of here

Are any of your opinions
From you and you alone... or you
as one of the minions
Or .. do you truly not know,...
Then I hope it's understood
that the question
Will never be answered
Nor will the non-answer ever be questioned

For no one but you has a single clue
When it comes to what you truly believe.

Following the trends in order to make friends
That's what is commonly called
a means to an end
or - too often -simply just dust in the winds

Like a young sapling in the woods
without any means to defend
Bebt to and fro
While at the mercy of the prevailing winds
That aids in its flexibility...
...ensuring it has the facility
To take on the heavy winds of lifes ever changing courses
Going stronger evermore
by using the winds own forces
while across the way
  that sheltered oak
Growing in the enormous shadow of a most magnificent oak
With its ability
to obscure even the most ardent of prevailing winds
Ensuring that it's prodigy
grows tall and straight ...
and never bends . Until the day
eventually comes
The results of nature's whims lightning.... fire or as time and age descends
Upon the spot so long occupied

Left alone and on its own
There stands the acorn born
magestic  oaks living clone.. as it were.... Although sad to say it is not.

It's a structure standing
Of rigid stance.
Sans crowning joy
Or twisted limbs
Courtesy of the over protection
That afforded it no chance .... No chance to be itself
And  live its own life.


*
*

We will be back for this one soon enough "said the arborist " who had accompanied the forestry crew as the they ascended upon the backwoods and heavy forest on a mercy mission to safely bring down and salvage the old growth wood of the  mighty oak.
" What's that you say there Bert?" said Bob Aaron the crew chief .
" I said that we ..or as you might put it Bob....Oh heck  in a hand basket listen to this" and he slapped palm to trunk and the drum beat ( as old as time itself ) announced the emptyness within .
  " Oh Good golly what do you think happened to it b/c she sure looks good from the outside.?"
   "A lot of things I suppose happened in this time here ,..but mostly what didn't happen that did most damage as it was shaded from the Sun... protected from the winds and h ail or lightning and was essentially doomed by overprotection and not being able to live the kind of life where one needs a few hard knocks and stresses put upon it..... In order to grow strong and have a solid interior or soul - you might say "
"Well I'll be darned as a fisherman's sock Bert .,. You're a poet and a philosopher."
  " Well, maybe so.. but mostly I'm an arborist and my job is to make things strong, give it the  ability to live better ...or decide when their time has come to give up the ghost and move to the next phase...and when you think about it all living things- be a tree ,plants or man- the only difference in our lives and death is that a tree orr most bushes live a life of green and when they've died and fallen to the ground they turn brown; whereashumans for the most part live one shade or another brown and when they die and fall to the ground they will turn to a green color..... if nobody comes along to pick them upm up and take them to the mortician " said the arborist Bert to the astonished crew boss Bob .
  " What the damp rag are you talking about and ...and ...?
  " You forgot to saycomedian in that list of things earlier" said Bert with a smile beeaking through his deeply tanned and wrinkled outdoors man's face ..." And did I just hear you say damp rag? he chuckled.
  " Yeah ,well you almost got me on that one Bert and I came really close to slipping up for the first time in 4 years."
" Four years.... I didn't know,or I would perhaps have thought twice had I known that "
   " No worries Bert if I had lost the record to that one it would have been f__ing well worth it.!"
It was Bert's time to be astonished as he whipped his head quickly to gaze over toward Bob, who continued- without a break in the conversation - "you didn't think you were the only comedian in these woods there did ya...besides it's only been 4 weeks 2 days and whatever... Hey guys we're going to go ahead and take that the other one right there down but be careful she's just as hollow is Berts wallet whenever  we go out to dinner together "
  "We ain't never been out to dinner together Bob"
  " Yeah" said Bob" and now you know why that's true" and with that he quickly moved on to join his crew  ahead leaving  Bert standing there as static is an old growth tree an, staring after Bob with astonishment and a bit of admiration as he said  "well I'll be a damp rag!
   "I heard that!
    ----***---

The real truth here is that we never really know people like we think we do, if we never take /took the chance... or we are never given the chance to...

the arborist is coming
he will cut limbs
from my golden elm
no longer will they almost climb
into my roof
birds will still nestle in her branches
declaring their territories
at dawn and dusk
but she will be without hands
for awhile

three houses
stretching from gnarly bow to
     copper-greenish branch – only
dropping
one or two at a time
     sweet seeds enough to breed

tree houses
a sylvan hotel on the outskirts
     of town looking on the steeple
of a country church – its sabbath
psalms echoing painfully
     on the tympanum in number two

green houses
hidden in summer’s glory
     days to shield the men from pesky
folk intent on taking aim – trying to
test Josiah’s mettle and break
     him into baby twigs

poor houses
in spirit and pocketbook
     yet each armed with steely latch
guarding unknown contents –
at dusk the shadows of one
     candle cannot reveal

light houses
suspended at risk of plunging
     mere meters down – the common
room looking after ill-fated siblings
     huddling together in fear
and shame

glass houses
no brick or mortar – under lock
     and key and susceptible to the raps
of Isaiah the seer’s allegations:  “and what
is it you guard with fastened doors?”
the arborist poses

slaughter houses
tremble at the shock – major
     prophesying at the door’s weak
and rusty hinges now wet with dishonor
     and ruin and guilty sobs making
a last long dirge

           
© Lewis Bosworth, 2013

you sit with yourself as you always have, alone,
i sit with the complexity of my emotions, together,
letting myself feel everything in the company
of my friends, loved ones, and a self-help book.
i know what safe love feels like because of them,
and that's why i have 25 reasons to wake up and try again.
sometime's i'm alone, but not really, i can't be -
at risk of texting apologies, or writing hurtful truths.
a network of feelings too vast to hold in -
you don't want to see me unearthed.
i wish i didn't have to write about this, you know that,
i'd rather a love poem and soft reflections on trees,
and so i give you my feelings like an arborist would,
watching my friends dissolve my splinters,
cutting my rotting branches one-by-one,
reframing them into fences of growth and change.
i wish i had their way, of seeing what i can be,
instead, i feel like a lotus in a pond of **** -
shining bright pink, like my cheeks, mildly embarrassed
by my own fluid, chaotic, and unhinged sense-of-self.

Delighted I am indeed.

Michael O’Leary, Bob Geldof and Edna Kenny
are Three Rats.

Scotland will secede and as in the Good Friday Agreement
there has to be a referendum on Irish reunification.

France will vote out.

That is the end of TTIP and death knell for USA interference
in Europe.

This is a win win situation.

New Zealand/Aus will re open the trade it lost with UK.

Ireland will begin trading with Russia/China.

Michael (( ’Leary and all those other arborist ((ssholes can
go and **** themselves.

Palindrome Geldof won’t like Tuesdays now either.

Edna Kenny and the Fairy Gale party can go to the
“ Haunts of Loot and Ahern “.

My wife, who works for an agency dealing with 100% Brits,
will no doubt be told that her services are no longer required.

But we will weather that.

I would rather go hungry than loose the gracious Queen.

EU was determined to get rid of her.

God Bless You Brits, You Have Endeared Your Nation.


Pass on to 60,000,000 Brits including Her Royal Highness.

PS.

Palindrome Geldof had better return the Knight Hood
and stop wearing his Pyjamas in public.

Deciduous trees use Autumn

as a rehearsal for faking death.


Any arborist will tell you that

they die from the inside to out.


Alan Fletcher's Four Season’s

logo shows us Spring to Winter.


I met a man selling cheap fire

wood, it was Hollow Cost Oaks.


I would have bought some, but

he was a Jew, I didn’t trust him.



four seasons logo from pihospitalityacademy.com